Demi Moore.

Peaches fiddled with the wires.Which colour? Red. Which hole? That one.

A glance over the shoulder. Boob’s one tit is out. Back to the wires. White. There.

Tit?

Another glance over the shoulder. Now Red’s boob is out. Wires done. Finally. Music playing.

Poker. Deal out the chips. Red’s top is over her head. Breasts exposed.

Shuffle the cards. Now Boob’s hooters are out as well.

“Do I look like Demi Moore like this?”

Bets guys, bets.

Chickpea popcorn.

It was a regular evening of movies and popcorn until the popcorn ran out. What would we do? The chickpeas came to mind.

Mog and Peaches convince Boob to make chickpea popcorn.

“They’re like the size of your fist! You can just munch away at this massive popcorn and it’s so tasty!”

So Boob heads into the kitchen, throws some oil and chickpeas into a pot and onto the stove.

A few minutes later, “Uh…guys, nothing’s happening.”

The reply tries to conceal the laughter, “Don’t worry, it takes longer than normal popcorn. Just give it more time.”

Ten minutes later, “Something’s not right…smoke is coming out of the pot.”

“Yea yea, that’s meant to happen. Any minute now they’ll start popping.”

Soon, thick black smoke is billowing out of the kitchen accompanied by a horrible stench, and the chickpeas had yet to pop. Finally, a suffocated and defeated Boob comes out of the kitchen, dreams of gigantic popcorn shattered

An explosion.

It was a quiet night. Peaches was sat on the couch, channel surfing. Mog was sleeping peacefully in her bed.

Suddenly there was a brilliant flash of lightning and a massive crack of thunder. Peaches jumped off the couch in fright as it came completely unexpected. Then a thought came to mind. With a snicker, Peaches ran out into the hallway.

Bang bang bang. Mog! There’s been an explosion!

Peaches could hear her scrambling out of bed. Next thing thing he knows, Mog is running down the hall towards the front door…butt naked! There were titties and ass right on display as Mog fumbled with the keys, desperately trying to open the door.

She stopped and looked over at Peaches who could barely keep the laughter in any longer. Then it dawned on her. Mog went back to bed with her tail between her legs.

An ex-submariner hiphopper.

I was at an awesome gig last week. This band was just way too cool.

A really tall lanky guy leaning over his double bass laid out the craziest rhythms. Their drummer has the most stunning blue eyes. The dude on the keyboard was improvising away. Off stage a laid back guy with a cap over his eyes and headset on worked the turntables.

Then there was your least expected rapper. He’s a rather short and stout white boy that can’t dance, but damn can he spit out rhymes! And I’m not normally a fan of hiphop. Best yet, he’s an ex-submariner. He was in the navy for a while and went AWOL twice. The navy takes this quite seriously, so he was on the run across the UK for a while. Finally they caught him and put him in jail for six months…on a submarine.

I loved the music. The tunes were great, the drink flowing. My new man and I decided to hit another place to go dancing. We walk out the door of this bar, and the floor was wet from people bringing in the rain with them. I hadn’t realised this and was quite tipsy, so my legs slid out from beneath me. Luckily enough, I was holding my guy’s hand, but my legs went round in a half circle, as if we were iceskating, until I ungracefully landed on my ass.

There was actually a small round of applause and people helped me up, but my ego and my hip are still bruised. :/

Xxx  Chips

The art of hair removal.

Peaches has a strange infatuation with my epilator, and I can’t recall the number of times he’s requested that I epilate his chest. Saturday evening, the topic came up yet again, and we actually managed to convince Peaches that tonight was the night. 

So we all head over to my place, and the epilator comes out. I can’t imagine what it would be like to get your chest epilated. We’re talking about ripping out each hair from their roots, and unfortunately not one at a time, but in mass quantities. I doubt Peaches had realized this. 

The first encounter with the dreaded machine brought painful screams. Peaches was writhing about on the floor in agony, while Boob, Mog and I were in hysterics. After a few attempts, Peaches laid two conditions for us the continue the savage hair removal: Madonna’s Frozen had to played at max volume and a shot of Baileys. This commenced the drinking. 

A few shots later, Madonna at full blast, we managed to turn Peaches from a mature, hairy man into a smooth chested little boy (with a happy trail leading down to…well, happiness). Vodka was abundant, the music good and the laughs great. The horniness of course kicked in. I needed to get laid, but #2 wasn’t answering his phone. Luckily enough, Peaches has always been offering his services to me. While he was straddling me on the couch, we suddenly discovered that the rest of the party had left us locked in the flat without any keys. 

It’s a good thing I live on the ground floor, so we managed to scramble out of the window and ended up rolling around in the undergrowth soaked by the pouring rain. We found Mog and Boob outside my door, wetting themselves in laughter. This was when Peaches decided to go home. He had work the next morning, and we’ve already discussed how difficult it is to convince him to call in sick. 

Yet another rejection to add to my list. Can’t a girl get laid? Anyway, Boob also headed off to bed, and Mog and I found ourselves out of drink. We tried calling information to find out where we could buy some booze at 6:30 on a Sunday morning. We were out of luck as well. 

What better consolation than shopping, and of all places, in a grocery store. I ended up spending 30 quid on crap (including four clipper lighters – I want every colour so I can coordinate them with my outfit. Yes, I know I’m sad.). It didn’t help that the guy behind the desk kept trying to convince me to buy more. 

Deprived of sex and drink, Mog and I warily headed back to our beds.

#2, curry, and beer.

Boob moved in next door last Friday. So of course we had to go over there and have a few drinks. To tell you the truth, we weren’t really up for it after another couple of nights of hardcore drinking – again. The night started off nice and easy, and after a homewarming dinner, we started discussing Mog’s potential career. See, Mog has been a bit of a lazy ass. The past year, which should have been her final year of uni (remember she’s a dropout), comprised of practically unlimited weed and excessive game cubing. It was time to think of a lifestyle change.

Boob and I came up with a brilliant idea. We would pimp out Mog. The plan was, we would make flyers with pictures of Mog advertising her sexual services (if you’re interested, it’s £100 an hour), and stick them through all the letterboxes on our street. Now, this is a very small street, and the chances of her running into one of her potential customers is inevitable. Boob and I were crying with laughter.

Suddenly, after a few quiet beers in the dark to a round of Tiger Woods on the Xbox, the phone rings. It’s #2. We actually have to explain a little bit here. #2, happened to attend a rather interesting cocktail party chez moi. Well, we call it a cocktail party, but it was more like a sex party. See, we all ended up getting pretty wrecked pretty quickly – this was Sparkles, Raul, Peaches, Mog and I.

An unexpected knock on the door brought in a few lads from upstairs – neighbours wanting to party along. Their first impression of me was probably something along the lines of a sex craved beast. By this point, we were half naked, dancing around with the music at full volume. The porno I’d picked up in Amsterdam this summer was put in the DVD player, and the 60 and up magazine Peaches had lent me was brought out. I’m not really into my old ladies, however, there is one fanny that I wouldn’t mind having blown up into a full size poster and hung on the wall. I also had to show off my new nine inch vibrator, which ended up in the hands of Raul. I had to confiscate it once I saw him sniffing at it and asking his girlfriend Sparkles why her juices smell different. Such a laid back night had taken such a drastic turn.

The beers and the porn had taken its toll – I was gagging for some cock. Any cock. As long as it could rise to the occasion. #2 just happened to be at the right place at the right time. I was glad to find a boy toy in the building that could attempt to tame my insatiable need for sex.

Anyway, back to the Friday night, in the midst of a highly intensive 18 holes, #2 calls and asks if we’re up for a party. The beers hadn’t been going down all that easy considering we were quite worn out from the past couple of nights, so we politely declined. However, a few more beers quickly changed our minds, especially mine when I realized the potential to get laid.We went over to #2’s place across the road to find the party had died – all that was left was #2, drunken and unfortunately incapable. I tried my best to liven him up, but “Little Jimmy was indisposed” (who names their willy Little Jimmy??).  So we continued drinking, but our stash of beers quickly vanished. Where could we get beer at this time of night?The answer was Boob. About a half box of beers were sitting in her fridge, but she was fast asleep and we needed a better excuse for barging in at such a late hour if we were to avoid her wrath. Then the curry came to mind.

Thursday night I was out with a load of folk in town, quite smashed, and ended the night at Mog’s, moaning about how I just wanted the curry I’d left in Boob’s place that afternoon. I also could’ve made instant noodles, but it was too much work. Having to get a pan, boil some water, put the noodles in, wait two minutes, put in the curry powder, then get a bowl and a fork and finally sit down and eat them was beyond me at that point in time. If it’d been pot noodles, that would’ve been a different story. When Boob heard about this, she scolded me for not having come over to pick up the curry, regardless of the time. So technically, it’d be all right to wake her so we could get the curry. Which we did, and while we were over there, Mog used her sweet charm to ask if there happened to be any beers left. Boob of course said we could take them, so we grabbed our spoils and left.

Back across the road, #2 was unconscious, the beer didn’t last long, and we found ourselves down in my kitchen munching on the leftover housewarming feast (we forgot about the curry). I was ranting about the disappointment passed out on the couch upstairs, and how it’s been two weeks since I last got any action. So I turned on Mog and tried to convince her that she is bisexual (so she claims – I don’t remember this), but I’m afraid I was rejected yet again.

The meager tobacco dust left in the packet was all we had left for an after dinner cigarette, and it somehow ended up scattered across the nastiness that is my floor – it hasn’t been washed since the ‘sex party’. Mog and I looked at each other, distraught. Without words we plunged to our hands and knees and began desperately trying to salvage the tobacco. There were probably more skin flakes and food remains than tobacco in that cigarette. But it was good!

Then it was off to bed (unfortunately alone and without batteries for the vibe) to recuperate in preparation for the next night of drink.

Calling in sick for work.

Today was a drag. Mog, Peaches and I were sitting around moaning about how bored we were. We could watch television, but there was nothing good on. We could put some Bust-a-Move on the game cube, but we’ve been playing it the past two days to the point of insanity (and I was whooping some major ass, might I add). We could play cards, but it’d been so long. We could go for a walk, but down to the park, again? We could smoke, but we didn’t have any weed, and the chances of getting some were pretty slim. So we decided to drink.

A few beers later, Ghettoblaster phones up and says he’s got some good old green. Now, it’s been a few days, so two joints later and well into Bust-a-Move, Peaches and I were in hysterics over the frantic way he tries to aim these little balls.Suddenly Peaches says he’s heading to bed soon because he has work tomorrow. Mog and I thought we were going to party! So we ganged up on Peaches and began listing why he should call in sick with Salmonella (we ate Mog’s ironically amazing chicken curry tonight).

Firstly, Peaches is the perfect employee. He is a salesman at a swanky department store. They do tests, like mystery shoppers who rate all sorts of things on a scale of five or so: friendliness, helpfulness, competency, general knowledge about the store… The list goes on and on. Peaches scored 100% when he was mystery shopped. He has the paper to prove it. And no one, I repeat, no one has ever gotten full marks before.

He’s also only had one sick day in the entire year, and he was actually sick. He suffered explosive diarrhea accompanied by simultaneous regurgitation before leaving the door for work. The closer he came to his beloved department store, the tighter he clenched that buttocks. Instead of just turning home and calling in sick, he walks into work, says he’s ill (and I’m sure by this time he certainly looks it!), and runs back home to his toilet.

Peaches also has just two weeks left of work before going back to university, and at the same time he’s having to finish up his re-sit project. He’s had a year to work on this, but has he? No. So if he took the day off, he could have a three day weekend (he’s off Fridays and Saturdays). Plenty of time to work on his project, and by the time Saturday rolls around, he’ll be back in the swing of things and getting loads accomplished.

On top of that, Peaches will be having a blast with Mog and I and still get paid for the work he doesn’t do. Also with him finishing work in just a few weeks, it’s the best opportunity for him to call in sick before it looks obvious he’s dodging work.

Peaches’ reasons for going to work were that firstly, he’d rather call in sick on Sunday (which he wouldn’t do anyway) and that he had, and I quote, “so much work to do”.

Great. What do you say to that? This is the result of an extremely thorough brainwashing.